


designs on you

by dramaturgicallycorrect, veryniceandgood



Series: niall and jack (and sometimes harry) [2]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect, https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryniceandgood/pseuds/veryniceandgood
Summary: “I’m going to call you,” Jack says, a promise that almost sounds like a threat.“Course, yeah,” Niall answers, looking away.That’s what everyone says. Sometimes they do, and Niall doesn’t pick up and they don’t try again. Sometimes they don’t, and Niall feels relieved. And sometimes they don’t, and the tiny hammer and chisel suspended over Niall’s heart strike to put another crack in it.“Niall.” His hand rests against Niall’s chin again and for a stomach swooping moment, Niall hopes he’ll get kissed again. Jack doesn’t move fast enough, everything on his own slow and steady time. So Niall leans in and does it for him, too brief for what he really wants, but just brief enough for the moment.Jack repeats into his lips, “I’m going to call you.”Niall thinks he believes him this time. It feels too close to the truth when Niall says, “Yeah, look forward to it.”[Or a Howden origin story.]





	designs on you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldbam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldbam/gifts).



> to coldbam, the honorary third author of this fic. thank you thank you thank you. that was for you.gif
> 
> to everyone else - we did it again. you don't have to have read the first one to read this one, but. it could be cool if you did.

Niall wakes up with immediacy, with none of the slow, stretching grogginess that usually accompanies the break of morning. He blinks his eyes open and they stay open.

There’s a fuzz at the edge of his brain that says, _you drank last night_ , but not enough of one to tell him he drank too much. It’s not a surprise, he’s always in for a piss up, especially when he’s back in Ireland, even if it is for work.

There’s a tenderness between his legs that says, _you got fucked last night,_ and that’s not much of a surprise either. Niall shifts in bed, the hotel linens slippery beneath him, until he can see Jack. Barry’s Jack. Or, if he wants to convince himself he’s a real son of a bitch, Harry’s Jack.

Four pints in and they were sitting close together, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, laughing at absolutely fucking everything that came out of each other’s mouths. Niall would be lying if he’d said he hadn’t considered ending up right here in this bed a good six times in the night, and Niall’s not in the habit of lying to himself.

“I’m tired,” Shona had said, looking pointedly at Niall, then over at Barry with her eyebrows raised. Niall hadn’t bothered to move away from Jack, to dislodge Jack’s hand from where it was resting on Niall’s waist. It wasn’t even that cold, but Jack was warm. They said their goodbyes.

“D’you want a ride?” Barry’d offered, squatting until he could hike her up onto his back to carry her off into the night.

It was quiet on the street, even with the pub shouts bleeding out into the night behind them. Niall expected it to be charged with something, the space between them. To be crackling with potential and desire, all the usual shite that leads to Niall’s hookups. But instead it was a loose, easy silence, up until Jack broke it.

“I could use a nightcap,” he said, but instead of leading Niall to another pub, he’d led him back to his hotel. Jack had kissed him first, soon as they made it through the door, but Niall had pushed him against the wall, straining to bracket him even though Jack felt a good six inches taller.

It made sense, in an odd way that Niall didn’t completely understand. They’d clicked together the second Barry introduced them, like old friends reconnecting after ages instead of strangers with two points of connection to either utilize or ignore.

Doesn’t matter, though. Niall knows what this is now, what’s expected of him.

Niall’s going through all the best options for waking him and saying, _I’ve got to go_ , when Jack says, thick with sleep, “Morning.”

All Niall can manage in return is a murmured, “Hey.”

Jack flutters his light eyelashes on his way to awake, an odd little hum-croak in the back of his throat sounding before he looks properly at Niall. Niall’s a little stuck by it, nearly holding his breath in anticipation of whatever Jack is planning to do.

He shifts onto his elbow, raising a hand to slide up Niall’s chest until it finds his face. _Oh, we’re doing this_ , Niall thinks, just a moment before they do.

Jack kisses him soundly, slick and persuasive, with a confidence and enthusiasm it’s easy to get lost in. Niall indulges himself in a hand on Jack’s waist, fingers pushing in, steadying the two of them so no one gives into the urge to roll on top of the other and get things going all over again.

It’s easier to lose himself in it than it should be, to fall into what feels practiced already, after the one night. He trusts Jack, with all his glowing recommendations. Though Niall had never exactly imagined he’d end up in Jack’s bed, not when the only thought he’d had about Jack before last night was a passing realization that the pilot who wasn’t Tom Hardy was well fit once he took that mask off.

Niall’s eyes stay closed for just a little longer after the kiss is done, so he can reorient the world to where it’s meant to be. But Jack tips it on its side again once Niall looks at him.

There’s something intense about Jack, the way he watches Niall with hunger, with certainty, with promise. People have looked at Niall like this before, and they haven’t really meant it.

He doesn’t want to find out Jack doesn’t mean it. He knows what this is.

Niall clears his throat, forcing strength into his voice, dried out from their aircon blasting all night. “I should – I’ve got – a flight. I’ve gotta get going.”

Jack nods. He knows what this is too.

Niall slides out of bed, inhaling sharply as the aircon hits him full force now that he’s no longer wrapped in the safety and warmth of the duvet. His clothes are scattered on the floor with Jack’s – most of it easy to distinguish by size at first glance.

When Niall chances a look back, Jack’s propped up, one hand bracing his head, as he watches with that same level of intensity that could threaten to run goosebumps down Niall’s back if he were the kind of person that allowed that sort of thing.

“Enjoying the show?” Niall asks with an attempt at nonchalance, sliding a jumper over his head.

“Very much,” Jack sighs.

Niall grins in spite of himself and goes for his shoes. He’s not sure what else to say. He knows what he wants to say, what he might could say. _Thanks for the seeing to, was good craic._ Or _come over here and kiss me one more time._ Or something equally embarrassing.

He pats his jeans for his keys, his phone, his wallet, and then he’s ready to go. He’s ready to go and suddenly looking for a reason not to.

Jack provides it, sliding out of the bed gracefully and padding over to join Niall at the door. “Hold on.”

Niall’s the opposite of subtle when he wants to be, his eyes drifting hungrily up and down all six-plus feet of Jack’s trim and very naked body. “Hm?”

“Give us your phone.” Jack reaches out his hand impatiently when Niall doesn’t move. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, hand it over.”

Niall slides it out of his back pocket and Jack plucks it from Niall’s hand in the same moment his thumb unlocks it.

Jack taps at the phone, one finger at a time, and the side of Niall’s mouth tips up, watching Jack slowly waste time so neither of them have to go. But then it goes on longer than the joke is funny for, and Niall realizes he might actually just text like that.

Jack’s phone buzzes on the other side of the room as Jack slides the phone into Niall’s back pocket again, with a cheeky grope on the way. They’re pressed close together again, Niall’s head tilted up ever so just to meet his eyes.

“I’m going to call you,” Jack says, a promise that almost sounds like a threat.

“Course, yeah,” Niall answers, looking away.

That’s what everyone says. Sometimes they do, and Niall doesn’t pick up and they don’t try again. Sometimes they don’t, and Niall feels relieved. And sometimes they don’t, and the tiny hammer and chisel suspended over Niall’s heart strike to put another crack in it.

“Niall.” His hand rests against Niall’s chin again and for a stomach swooping moment, Niall hopes he’ll get kissed again.

Jack doesn’t move fast enough, everything on his own slow and steady time. So Niall leans in and does it for him, too brief for what he really wants, but just brief enough for the moment.

Jack repeats into his lips, “I’m going to call you.”

Niall thinks he believes him this time. It feels too close to the truth when Niall says, “Yeah, look forward to it.”

–

When Niall’s phone chimes with a text, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he sees who it’s from.

_Hello, Niall, it’s Jack._

Niall taps into the contact first, just to prove that it’s there, the phone number is in his phone. Jack Lowden, first and last name genuinely, no emojis, no topless selfie snuck in as the contact photo. Just a proper contact, like he’s meant for business.

Someone chirps his name and Niall snaps to attention, he’s meant to be filming something and not staring in surprise at his phone like he’s completely lost the plot.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, leaving the text unanswered and burning a hole through his back pocket. “Where d’you want me?”

He comes back to his phone an hour later, with two more texts, each of them having buzzed at him somewhat accusatory-like as he kept ignoring them.

 _Too light for my liking compared to the Scotch_ , says Jack’s first text. It’s followed by a poorly framed selfie of him squinting at the lens with what looks like a glass of whiskey cradled by his cheek. There are low lit barrels in the background, barely visible around his light hair. Niall saves the photo quickly, mindlessly.

Niall knows fuck all about whiskey, just that he likes to drink it when he’s got someone to impress. He bites down that natural part of him to jump to Irish whiskey’s defense out of sheer national pride.

 _Why were you at a whiskey tasting at 9am ??_ he responds, and leaves it at that.

The response comes before Niall can pocket his phone – _When in Cork, innit?_

Niall remembers the warning, wonders why he’s the exception to the rule. He didn’t exactly tell Barry what’d they been up to, just that they had a good time, traded numbers.

“Good luck,” Barry’d said, “He picks one day a month to respond to all of his texts in bulk, and even then, it’s less a response and more a passing thought of the moment.”

Niall’s gotten four this morning. And then– five.

_Though I reckon I liked watching you drink that Jameson well enough._

Niall had almost forgotten he’d had a whiskey to start the other night instead of a pint of his usual. He’d known immediately upon shaking Jack’s hand that he had someone to impress. It had worked – the two of them commiserating over trying to look like Sinatra, Niall crooning out a chorus traded for Jack’s few lines in a practiced American accent. Barry had taken the piss for seven straight minutes, but it was worth it for the light in Jack’s eyes as they watched Niall, intense and intent.

Niall sends him back absolute nonsense, and doesn’t stop doing so for days.

He spends each of his breaks collecting up pieces of Jack like it’s a game, like he’s trying to figure out where Jack’s communication limit is. He doesn’t appear to have one, gives up facts about himself, his life, his day like he hasn’t got anything to hide or keep close to his chest. Niall is astounded, and it makes him all the greedier.

He makes one slip up – watches _Tommy’s Honour_ on a plane ride and tries to text Jack a load of shite about golf. Turns out Jack isn’t a method actor, knows fuck all about golf. And it’s hard to discern tone over text, but he does sound somewhat earnest when he promises he’ll look into it.

Niall has to catch himself sometimes, texting late into the night, however many hours ahead of or behind Jack. He’d never really gotten to spend his formative years up all night talking to someone he sort of sideways fancies, never really allowed himself to fancy someone too much. He’d replaced that with texting the boys furiously, practically begging them not to forget him over in Ireland, until they finally got into the studio, onto the road.

He doesn’t have crushes, and that’s okay. Because that’s not what that is. He doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but that’s not what this is. He swears.

–

He wakes to a text accompanying his alarm, and he slaps at his alarm furiously to get at the text that much faster – _Where are we this morning?_

It’s a nice way to start the day, for once, the first person he talks to isn’t someone who’s about to schedule him to be three places at one time without the use of a Time Turner or anything.

Promo’s always a delight.

Niall melts back into bed, holding his phone over his face, and reading the text over and over until he can hear it in the curves of Jack’s accent, in his warm, maybe sleepy tones. Definitely sleepy tones, if he’s waking to a text.

 _Its 7.30,_ Niall sends back, and is surprised to get a response before he’s even managed to convince himself to roll out of bed.

 _Well spotted_ , comes the first text, followed swiftly by a jaunty, _The day is up and available for seizing, Niall._

Niall figures where he is, does the maths for Jack, which means if it’s an ungodly hour for Niall, it’s even worse back home. _Oh god, youre a morning person .._

Jack’s response comes when he’s brushing his teeth, _No sense in wasting the day away in bed. Alone, that is._

Niall chokes a little on the toothpaste, inhaling as quick as he does. He rinses and spits, even though he’s not quite done, and gives himself a long look in the mirror.

He’s got the kind of bedhead that’s itching to have a hand run through it, ideally somebody else’s. He fusses with it a bit before making the executive decision to throw on his Warriors cap and make the hair someone else’s problem later.

He looks tired, not as tired as he’s seen himself before, but just about at the end of his rope. He knows the end of it’s coming soon, opening up to a long and free few months over the holidays, and he’s got to power through for the sake of the album.

Niall had promised himself, when he got into this, the second they’d finished the first demo of _This Town_ , that he’d take the time to do things for himself. The last thing he’d done for himself was let Jack fuck him twice in one night instead of going back to his own place for a good night’s rest before his early morning flight.

Maybe he’s about due for another. He holds the phone up to the mirror, thumb hovering over the photo app, and thinks about it practically.

He’s worked himself backwards to give himself exactly as much time as he needs to get going, trying to salvage as much sleep as he can manage. If he gets something going with Jack, with as clear an invitation as that was, it’ll trash the day. And as much as Niall would like to pretend he could play the part of a selfish popstar, he’s got too many people waiting on him who deserve better.

He moves his thumb to Instagram instead, taking a classic squinty-faced, chest-up, topless selfie for his story, captioning it something dramatic about how early it is. Then he sets the phone back on the counter, face down to avoid temptation, and sets about his morning routine.

If Jack sees it because he happens to follow Niall, then maybe he’ll know. He’ll know it was for him. He’ll know Niall can’t start anything because he never starts anything, because they’re both meant to know what this was.

Niall’s meant to know, but in the car to the radio station, he still sends, _Ha ha .. im in sweden ._

 _Sweden’s lovely_ , Jack answers, quick enough Niall could honestly screenshot some timestamps to prove Barry wrong if he thought he could ever stomach Barry seeing the two of them flirt. If that’s even what they’re doing. _My brother lives there._

 _No shit,_ Niall sends back.

 _Yes, he’s in the Royal Ballet_. _Positively no shit at all._

“Huh,” Niall says, which gets Martha’s attention, and he has to wave her off like it’s nothing, but the little thrill in his chest makes him believe it’s rather something.

Jack comes back with an invitation that gives Niall pause: _You should catch a show. I know a guy who could get you in._

So Niall deflects: _Impressive .._

_Stick with me Niall, I’ll show you the world._

Niall entertains the thought, but only for a moment, because he knows his schedule, he knows exactly what it would cost to write back _go on then, make the call bigshot_. He doesn’t know a thing about ballet, hasn’t ever had even a passing interest, but there’s something about it now that it feels lit up through association with Jack, cast in some sort of ethereal golden glow.

But that’s sort of not a thing maybe-friends-slash-one-night-stands do, do they? Catch their brother’s performance with the Royal Swedish Ballet alone, without them?

He wants to send Jack, _we’re friends right_ , just because everything goes a little fuzzy when it comes to Jack, and Niall prefers his boundaries a bit better-defined than this, but he settles for practical again.

_Wish I could go , but after this its off to copenhagen , then spending the night in hamburg ._

He settles his phone into his back pocket for the next three hours, determined to work up where it’s clear and not fuzzy, where he knows exactly what he’s doing at all times, not only because he’s got an entire clear laid out schedule and years of media training, but because he does this. He does interviews, he does charming strangers, he does thanking the fans with every inch of sincerity he can muster.

He doesn’t do whatever he’s doing with Jack. Not with any girl he’s been with in the past, certainly not with the boys. It’s just not worth the effort, is the thing, not that Jack’s not worth the effort, but Niall isn’t.

 _Extraordinary_ , Jack has answered when Niall finally checks. _Tell me, have they scheduled you any time to piss today?_

 _Its promo_ , Niall sends off, probably a little more curt than he should be.

He owes it to himself, he owes it to this album he’s poured his whole heart into. He knows the name of the game as well as he knows his own, and it’s this – it’s promo til you can’t see straight, and you do have to ask when you need to have a wee.

Sympathy only cracks at his armor, and he needs his armor as tough as he can get it.

–

When Niall’s phone rings, he’s surprised. It doesn’t ring often, not in 2017 where normal people text or email. But that’s not really all.

He’s settled in for the night – had settled in for the night around lunchtime, actually. He’s on the sofa, surrounded by enough beer and snacks and recorded footie games to last him till well into the night as he let the promo exhaustion slip off him as the hours progressed.

Everyone he knows knows better than to call him those first few days he’s home, just so he can get his head right. So he’s surprised when the phone rings.

“Jack,” Niall says. “You called.”

“I’m a man of my word,” comes his voice, chipper enough that Niall can almost conjure his smiling face into the air in front of him. “Eventually.”

Niall laughs, easy for it. “Good to know.”

“Listen, I’m back in London. You’re back in London. I’m coming over tonight.”

“Are you?” Niall asks, amused.

“Yeah, I’ll grab a takeaway on my way. You said you liked sushi?”

“I do, yeah.” He drops the amused tone, and the words come out slower now that he’s beginning to realize Jack’s actually serious.

“Great, I’ll be there in about,” there’s a pause like he’s checking the time, “an hour.”

Niall laughs, almost disbelieving, and it’s not like there’s a _no don’t come over_ on his tongue, although, if he’s as self-respecting as he pretends to be, there should be. They’re meant to know what they are and they’re not… this.

“Hang on – what if I had plans?”

“I was informed via WhatsApp that according to your Instagram story, you’re sitting on your sofa watching sports recaps.” Jack pauses. “My god, that was actually physically painful to say.”

“You don’t follow me on Instagram.” Niall tries to sound questioning instead of exactly certain, even though he is exactly certain. He checked. It was a moment of weakness.

“Don’t I?” Jack says innocently. “Shall I come, then?”

Niall forces himself to take a beat to orient his response to something as casual as it should be, instead of listening to his gut and punching out a quick and desperate _yes_. “Yeah, but the Derby game’s on around then, so we’ll be watching that.”

“Great, it’s a date.”

Niall keeps his phone in his hand long after Jack’s rung off, his heart thumping in his chest with a severe anticipation. He’s done it a few times before, lost himself in a shag, releasing months of tension in a single night. He’s never so tired he can’t get it up. This might be exactly what he needs.

“Shit,” he says, and pulls himself off the sofa to tidy – the sitting room, the bedroom, himself.

–

Niall doesn’t jump on him the moment he opens the door because Jack’s got a takeaway bag in his hands. He stares at it for far too long until he can get his mouth working in a friendly way, to properly say hello and invite him in.

“Shoes off, please,” he says, waving Jack toward the caddy by the door.

Jack gamely removes his battered lace up shoes and stows them away, the takeaway bag trading hands as Niall divests him of his raincoat. He’s got a pair of bright argyle socks on Niall admires, and he murmurs a quick compliment.

Jack’s dressed casually, but he still looks incredible. He’s one of those people who can put a t-shirt on and look like he’s been professionally styled, but he does have a bit more than a t-shirt on, which is more than Niall can say for himself.

Niall’s in an old one he’s had for ages that runs a bit smaller than it should now that he’s filled out, and an ancient pair of joggers. Comfort was what he’d gone for first, so he didn’t look like he was trying too hard, then something that was easy to take off.

Jack’s eyes run over the length of him and he comes up with a satisfied grin. So that was the right move then on Niall’s part.

They fuss about with a tour, brief enough to pause in every common area with the specific, strategic intention to leave Niall’s bedroom to the last.

But in the kitchen, Jack turns to him and says, “I know you said the game was on, but I thought maybe we could manage a table? Just while we eat.”

“I – yeah, yeah, of course.”

Niall’s not even sure he’s used his table since he’s moved into his new place. For years and years, eating at a table’s been for special occasions, restaurants, Sarah’s kitchen. Otherwise, when he’s at home, he’s in his pants, eating on his sofa like a child whose parents aren’t home to tell him not to.

He sets plates and small dishes for the soy sauce and ginger out as Jack pops the tops of a few bottles of Sapporo. That’ll be good to calm Niall’s nerves. He hasn’t a clue why he’s nervous, they’ve done this before, kind of, and they’ve proven to be quite good together.

Jack presents him with a wide variety of selections, like he’s bought out the whole shop, before settling to tuck into his lo mein dish. Niall grins and shakes his head as he catches a piece of sashimi between his chopsticks. Jack probably doesn’t even like sushi.

“I like your place,” Jack says, and Niall hums his thanks around a mouthful of salmon and rice. “It’s clean, simple. Not a lot of clutter everywhere.”

“Well, I just moved in not too long ago,” Niall answers. It’s true, he’d only had a moment or two to breathe in the new space until he was off to the continent. The place doesn’t really smell like him yet, even though he’s been burning his candles for hours at a time. “I could have a hidden store of absolute rubbish in the attic just waiting to explode everywhere.”

Jack considers him for a moment, then reads him far too easily, “No, I don’t think you do.”

Niall tips his beer toward Jack in concession and takes a long pull. He doesn’t. It’s all at his parents’ houses or in storage. He’s not sure he’ll see it again.

“The last time I moved house, I only kept about a quarter of my shite, binned or donated the rest,” Jack says. “It was like. I dunno, I think I was breathing easier.”

“Yeah,” Niall says softly, encouraging, because Jack’s face has gone quite serious.

“You just hoard all this stuff when you’re a kid, you think you’re gonna need it someday, or you attach significance to it and keep it, thinking you’ll want that reminder forever. But the fact of the matter is, I couldn’t quite remember where that glitter-decorated paper plate came from. No sense in keeping it.”

Niall bets his parents would appreciate that, just to get the space back. He doubts they’re poring over all of it, chuckling good naturedly at hundreds of pages of saved articles and fan letters that feels odd or wrong to throw away.

Someone had told him once their childhoods were like an origin story. Just preparation for something greater, something worth noticing, instead of just being what everyone else who’s grown has – a series of good things and bad things that you build upon to make up who you are and who you’ve been.

Somewhere along the line, someone had decided every minute of Niall’s life was worth documenting, studying, paying for. He can’t make heads or tails of it. Thinking about it makes him want to sit down, even when he’s already sitting.

“That does sound refreshing. Like. Cathartic,” Niall decides.

“It was,” Jack says wistfully. “Until my flatmate brought all his shit with him. Kind of fucked with the whole emotional resonance of the cleansing.”

Niall laughs. He doesn’t really have the same problem, and he almost wishes he did. He’s never told anyone about that, never really thought that’s something anyone could understand, but it occurs to him this is something he can tell Jack.

“I have flatmates sometimes. Well, housemates, usually just my cousins, really,” Niall says. “But it still always feels like my house, y’know? Not like ours, just mine. They happen to be in it. I’m always asking them, like don’t you have anything you want to add, like an ugly lamp to put in the corner that I’ll absolutely hate but let you keep.”

He shrugs the rest of it off, that being as far as he can go without giving himself up entirely.

“The difference between a house and a home. A hotel and a home,” Jack says, and that’s the long and short of it, in just the one breath.

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Not that it’s the things that are important, like you don’t need things to make a home. I just like. It’s mine. It’s my guitars on the wall.”

“Instead of a print of a watercolor reproduced for 8,500 other rooms just like it.”

Niall nods. “You just want to be surrounded by things that are yours, nobody else’s.”

Jack’s hands are folded in front of him, have been for some time, listening to Niall all the while, and he’s got that look on his face again. “Understand the feeling entirely.”

–

They watch the Derby game on Niall’s sofa, starting from the top of it because Niall had it recorded. Because he never thought they’d get that far, pressed into the corner of his sectional, practically shoulders to hips to toes, even though Niall’s bought the biggest sofa he’s ever personally seen in his life.

At every moment of the first half, Niall’s tense but ready, wondering if Jack means for him to make the first move. If he should move his fingertips from his own thigh to Jack’s thigh and further, if they’ll finally get to the matter at hand.

But instead they chat shit about football and beer, and it’s as perfectly relaxing as Niall had planned for his non-Jack evening to go, with the added bonus of actually having Jack around.

Jack’s phone hums with a few texts at the half, but he appears completely unbothered by it.

Niall’s trained to answer a phone at these times in his life, his hand always twitching to reach out instinctively in case he’s missed an appointment or has an email to answer about merch or who knows what.

“D’you need to get that?” Niall says. Equitably, benevolently. Because later he’s going to be busy, Niall imagines.

“It’ll wait.”

Niall quirks an eyebrow at him, that Jack shrugs off.

“I’ll get to it when I get to the others.”

“Others?” Niall asks. “How many others?”

Jack sighs, picking up his phone, unlocking it carefully with the passcode in plain sight – Niall makes out a six and a two before he rolls his eyes that it might be Jack’s own birthday. Then he just hands the phone to Niall.

He’s just _handing his phone_ over to Niall, who looks at it for a moment, the sixteen apps covering up a foggy landscape wallpaper. The amount of trust that comes with an unlocked phone, he thinks, before he sees it.

“Two hundred and _eighty-seven_ unread texts,” Niall says, aghast.

“What?”

“You’re meant to answer these.” Niall tips the phone up so it’s level to Jack’s face, just in case he doesn’t know, just in case he doesn’t understand. “Like when people text you, you’re actually supposed to read them, and then do something about it. Or like. At least mark them read, for fuck’s sake, Jack, I’m anxious just looking at this.”

Jack makes a huffing sound, shuffling around until he’s sitting up properly. Niall can feel a rant humming in the air before Jack delivers it, and, prepared for it, Niall just watches him go.

“I dunno what the fascination is with the texting these days,” Jack says, hands going and all, “if it’s not out of necessity. It’s a phone, you’re meant to use it as a phone. You’ve got a call to make, you use your phone. You want to talk to a person, you put your voice to it. Make the effort.”

Niall breaks, finally, laughing right in his face. “What a load of shit.”

Jack narrows his eyes over at him. “Excuse me?”

“That sounds like a nonsense excuse for being terrible at responding to texts.”

“I respond yours, don’t I?” Jack says casually enough, like he’s not doing something life changing. His life’s changed, Jack’s life’s changed, it’s unclear.

It gets to be too much, so Niall opens WhatsApp and says, “Maybe I should respond to some of these.”

That gets a sharper reaction out of Jack. “Don’t you dare.”

“Why, because you’ve got a reputation to maintain?” It’s enough of a taunt to start a mad scuffle for the phone, Niall trying and failing to roll away once Jack loops a strong arm around his waist. He lets himself get slid up and over.

Jack’s got a height advantage, slides his palms up Niall’s body until he can reach his hands, wrapped tight around the phone. Niall breathes carefully beneath Jack, their faces mere inches apart. From this angle he can see the way the tips of his eyelashes go transparent in the light, can see the gleam in his eyes.

Jack takes advantage of this moment of weakness, plucking the phone away and tossing it to the other end of the sofa where Niall can’t get to it without wiggling out from underneath him. Jack sits back and pulls Niall with him. Niall ends up half in his lap and it’s nice, when Jack wraps his arms around him, presses his face to Niall’s shoulder with a contented hum.

This could be the start of it, just a few inches to the left or maybe the swing of Niall’s leg over onto the other side.

“Steady on,” Jack says suddenly, eyes glued to the screen. Niall turns back to the match, quick enough to see the ball go left, the goalie go right, and –

“Ah fuck, the goal was fucking _wide open_ ,” Niall shouts, sitting up like he’s going to go right through the screen and give him a talking to. “How do you miss that shot?”

“Raging incompetence.”

Niall settles back against Jack, stewing with his arms crossed over his chest. “I swear, sometimes it’s like they’re trying to lose.”

Nothing happens for ages after that, the game as lazy as a kickabout in the park. Niall’s grumpy, mourning their chances of ever getting to the Premier League, and Jack takes it in stride for someone who outright laughed in Niall’s face when he said he supported Derby.

They settle, comfortable and quiet and easy, and the rhythmic rising and falling of Jack’s chest against Niall’s back is soothing.

Niall blinks slowly and wakes up to Jack sliding out from underneath him, gently maneuvering Niall so he’s still cushioned against the back of the sofa.

Niall blinks again and there’s water running somewhere, the lightest hint of dishes clinking together.

Niall blinks and Jack’s hand is on his face. When Jack starts speaking quietly, it feels real, not like a dream, when Niall thinks it’s meant to be the other way around. “I’m gonna take off.”

It’s a hard-won fight to awaken, Niall’s voice cracking like it does when he naps at an awkward angle and dries his throat out. “Shit. Fell asleep?”

“Yeah.” Jack doesn’t look disappointed, necessarily, more amused than anything. His hand is still warm to the side of Niall’s face until Niall sits up properly, stretches, looks around. Jack’s squatted himself onto the ottoman in front of the sofa. It’s darker in the room than Niall remembers it being, and he can feel it’s late down in his bones.

“What’d I miss?”

“Match ended about half an hour ago. It’s bad news, mate.”

Bad news. Not the fucking match, really, it’s to be expected, Niall goes for Derby. It’s bad news he was meant to shag Jack and instead fell asleep on his fucking chest. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Well, your lads put up a good fight.”

“No, I meant about the.” He gestures to himself, meaning sleep, meaning when he thought he’s never so tired he can’t get it up, he was clearly wrong.

Jack makes a gentle, dismissive sound. “Seemed like you needed the rest.”

Niall doesn’t need the rest. He could – he could go for a round at least, he just needs a second. He stands to prove his point, to get his heart rate going, and there’s still a bit of a sway to him that Jack steadies with his hands on Niall’s hips as he rises with him.

Around them, everything’s been collected up, their plates, beer bottles. He remembers the running water. “Did you clean?”

“Nah, I hired someone,” Jack answers around a grin. “Got a cleaner on call, whenever, wherever. Most people like a driver on call, but not me. Can’t be arsed to tidy.”

 _You’re full of shit_ , Niall means to say, but what comes out is a weak laugh.

Niall looks up at him, steady but still grounded by Jack’s hands, and forces himself to breathe. They’re close enough now that Niall would start to get twitchy, would itch to put distance between him and whoever stood near him, if it were anyone else but Jack. It’s never been a problem with Jack.

He gets out a halting, “You should – you could – stay.”

It’s not his best pick up line, didn’t even come with a fluttering of his eyelashes, a cheeky grope. He looks for any trace of disappointment on Jack’s face, but finds nothing but amusement.

“Nah, you look knackered. Go on to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow?” Jack nods his head in the direction of the door until Niall finally agrees to take the hint to walk him out.

Once Jack’s shoes are all laced up, Niall opens the door for him, even if Jack’s perfectly capable of opening a door himself.

“Thanks for having me.”

“Of course, any time,” Niall answers, like a knee jerk reaction that settles into truth the more he thinks of it. He’d have Jack over any time.

“I’ll give you a call, okay?” He presses a kiss to the side of Niall’s head and heads off down the drive without waiting for Niall’s response.

“Okay,” Niall says quietly, the side of his head tingling like it’s gone radioactive. The thing is, he completely believes Jack this time.

–

“Jack,” Niall says. “You called.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

Niall chuckles. He turns away from the laptop to focus on the conversation, popping his glasses off and setting them on the table. “What’s up, mate?”

“Listen, I was thinking, maybe this weekend I’d take you on that hike I was telling you about. What’s your Saturday look like?”

“Oh, I was.” Niall turns back in his chair to look at the screen, the list of groceries to be delivered by Friday. “Actually, I was thinking about having a sort of. A cookout with the lads and all, now I’m back.”

“Mm.”

“You should swing by. Have a drink,” Niall says idly, and that’s how Jack shows up to the cookout on Saturday half an hour early with a bag of ice under his arm.

He unwinds a scarf from his neck and shrugs off a jacket, and Niall can’t even tease him for it not being cold in the slightest because he looks so fucking good Niall has to take a step back.

Niall had spent a few days floating around in some level of detachment and denial about what he’d set himself up for, asking Jack over, breaking the privacy they’ve built up between themselves.

He doesn’t know if he’s ready to introduce the lot of them to someone he’s – not fucking, because you’d probably have to do that more than once and not have fallen asleep before you’ve done it twice in order to use that verb tense. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to introduce them to Jack.

It’s a little late now.

“Cheers for that,” Niall says, very casually, scooping up the bag of ice and leading them to the kitchen.

“I like this,” Jack says, tugging at the jumper Niall’s wearing.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering where it went. Happy to see it’s found a good home.”

“I – what?” Niall looks down at the jumper. It is new, or at least it’s new to Niall. He’d just assumed it’d been dropped off by his assistant, one of them nonsense care packages full of free shit even though he can afford a jumper or two by now on his own. “This is mine.”

“It is now, yeah. Looks better on you.” Jack recovers the bag of ice and goes to pour it in the cooler full of beer Niall’s got open and waiting.

Niall thinks back to swiping clothing off the floor, jamming on whatever looked like his. It is a bit roomier than Niall usually wears them, the jumper.

He flicks his eyes to the clock – no time to change and anyway no one should honestly know but Jack and Jack’s likely done all the piss taking he’s up for. At least about the jumper.

Jack gets eyes on the list Niall’s set out for himself, those bits he hasn’t quite gotten to in preparation, and announces he’ll work his way up if Niall works his way down, and they’ll meet in the middle. Usually Niall’s got to have his hands in everything, when it’s a cookout, when he’s the one who’s planned it all. Because here at his there isn’t a contingency of people ready to back him up if one thing goes wrong; it’s meant to be all on him.

But Niall surrenders some of the control to Jack’s assistance and it goes loads faster. And, when he checks up behind Jack without saying anything – super secretly and completely incognito in every way – he’s satisfied by the results.

Half the LIC are in, a good number of his cousins, and a couple more. Plenty of mouths to feed, people to entertain, and Niall bounces around doing just that, Jack at his side more often than not. Jack peels off to take care of a few things, chat to a few people while Niall mans the grill, somehow knowing when Niall just needs a second to focus on what he’s doing so he doesn’t fuck up dinner.

“This is Jack,” is all Niall really needs to say, and Jack takes care of the rest of it himself. And because Niall’s got loads of friends, the rest of them assume he’s another one of Niall’s collection.

He likes a big family, is the thing, blood or no. Once someone can wiggle their way past Niall’s defenses, that’s that. They’re in unless they fuck him over, find some sort of way to violate the unspoken rules Niall feels like a prat for having. But Jack’s in the industry, he’s seen what it was like for Harry in France. So he’s got to know, he’s got to be safe.

–

There’s a hand at Niall’s back and his first thought is Jack, like a reflex, and he tells himself he’s not disappointed when it’s only Louis.

“Hey Lou.” Niall brings him in for a hug. “Fashionably late as always.”

“I do love an entrance,” Louis says. “El’s fussing with something in the car, she’ll be along shortly. Or we’ll never see her again. It’s a toss-up.”

“That’s all right.”

Louis winds an arm around Niall’s shoulder. “You look cozy.”

There’s a natural segue in his mind, Niall answering with, “I should – ” as he looks around for Jack. _I should introduce you to the guy it belongs to_ , is the last thing Niall wants to say.

Jack’s being followed around by the littlest Humes, whose wide eyes are glued to his every move as he snakes through the yard, stopping every few feet to put his hands on his hips and make his face go perplexed like he’s lost something. Every time he does, she shrieks with laughter.

“Who’s that?” Louis asks, following Niall’s sightline, and fixing Niall’s problem for him.

“It’s, ah. It’s my mate, Jack. You’ll like him, he’s a laugh.”

Niall catches his eye across the yard and nods at him, not quite a beckoning so he can get away with it if Jack doesn’t get it.

Jack squats down to shake her hand, say a few things to her, before he’s taking her by the hand again and leading her over to her mum.

Niall doesn’t know if Jack knows what the rest of them look like. He honestly hasn’t gotten a read on whether Jack knows about any of it. He can’t picture Harry nattering away about the band to a bunch of people when he was trying to establish himself as a serious actor or whatever, still with a trail of teenaged girls and photographers following him around even while he was shooting.

When Barry’d introduced them, his first and only hint was Jack saying, “Hello, Niall. Barry will not shut up about you. It’s nice to put a face to the name.” Niall likes to play at normal sometimes.

Louis’ showing him a new batch of Freddie pictures by the time Jack slides in, attaching himself again to Niall’s side like they’re obviously matching puzzle pieces.

Louis’ eyes are sharp when they look up from his phone.

“This is Jack,” Niall says, a tried and true introduction.

“Louis.”

Jack offers his hand. “Pleasure.”

They trade handshakes and it’s amiable enough. Louis’ meant to be grown up enough that he’s not in the habit of threatening anyone Niall’s remotely interested in. Not that he should be able to tell.

“This your son?” Jack looks between the picture and Louis a few times. “Your absolute spitting image.”

“He is, isn’t he,” Louis says, his voice immediately warm like it always gets when it comes to Freddie, and that’s him won over.

Niall doesn’t remember having told Jack about Louis’ kid, but he plays it cool.

Eleanor steps through the glass door, a large, flimsy white box in her hands.

“Happy birthday!” she says and only then does Niall clock that what she’s holding is a birthday cake.

Jack looks at him, a frown on his face. “Is it your birthday?”

“Ehm,” Niall says.

“Oh, shit,” Eleanor says, her face falling.

Louis barks out a laugh, his eyebrows arching high as he looks over at Eleanor. “You’ve stepped in it now, haven’t you,” he crows. “Oh, and for once it wasn’t me. This is rich.”

“Shut it. It was your idea.”

“Thanks, this looks great,” Niall says, taking the cake off her. He gives her a kiss on the cheek as he makes his way back in for the kitchen, so she knows he’s not upset or anything. He gives Louis nothing because he is absolutely convinced it really is all Louis’ fault.

Jack follows him easily, like he’d been asked to join. He leans against the counter and says nothing, which says enough.

“It was a few weeks ago, honestly, but I was out with the promo and all,” Niall explains. “I didn’t want to make a big to do about it. Just wanted a few friendly faces around.”

“If I’d known, I’d have gotten you something uncomfortably cheap, just to watch you pretend you liked it. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Next time.”

It lands on both of them at the same time, what that meant, and it gets Jack grinning and Niall turning his attention back to the cake.

“Ah, christ,” Niall says, wincing once he opens it. It’s got a massive screenprint of Niall’s face right onto the frosting, this hideous picture that looks like he’s either sneezing or seizing.

Jack hums in solidarity, his smile gone in favor of a wince. “I could accidentally knock it onto the floor. No one would have to know. I’ll take the fall.”

Niall’s tempted, just for a weak moment, to let him do it. But he’s too new. The risk is too great. “You’re a good man, Lowden.”

–

Jack finds Bressie on his own after dinner, seeking him out like he somehow knows Brez will be the hardest to win over. He’s protective is all, has been since Niall was a kid and didn’t have the first clue what he was doing. Bressie’s part of the reason Niall’s got his rules, part of the reason Niall stays safe.

And Niall’s a grown up now, perfectly capable at selecting new members of the crew, but he still can’t help but hope Jack passes the test.

It goes fine until Bressie looks like he’s storming across the yard, through the gate and beyond, maybe gone for the afternoon by the looks of it, quick as he was going. Niall looks over in panic to Jack, who he’s just left, but Jack’s got a beer nudging at his smile as he’s talking to Willie.

Louis flicks his ear. “Oi, Nialler.”

Niall’s head snaps back. “Fuck off what.”

“I’m talking.”

“You’re always talking.” Niall’s thumb goes to his mouth and he worries at it, thinking over at Jack _don’t fuck this up don’t fuck this up_ , like maybe if he does it hard enough the words will hit Jack square in the forehead and sink it.

“So you should always be listening.”

Eleanor whacks Louis before Niall gets the chance. Louis massages his shoulder, but remains undeterred. “I was _saying_ you should get a fire pit.”

Niall scowls over at him. “I’m not getting a fire pit.”

“Fire pits are cool,” Eleanor adds, going for innocent, but Niall knows her too well by now to believe it.

“All I ever have over are drunk idiots. The last thing I’m adding to the mix is fire.”

Bressie reappears, flipping the latch for the gate behind him. He presents Jack with his fucking book, the little ones he keeps in his glove box, and Niall exhales deliberately, slowly, as Bressie takes a picture of Jack with it for his Instagram.

Louis physically removes Niall’s hand from his mouth. “Stop that, Neil.”

“I bet Jack would like a fire pit,” Eleanor says, and she’s not even playing innocent now.

“What does it matter what Jack likes,” Niall asks.

“Yeah, all right,” Louis says, taking a very judgmental sip of his beer before the two of them are wandering off.

It’s been a long day, and Niall’s just about hit his limit. He’s got the lingering fumes of tour exhaustion waving over him, coupled with the sheer exhaustion that comes with socializing with twenty people in one go. He doesn’t look deflated, he doesn’t think, he’s a bit too practiced for that. He pushes himself back into the fray.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Niall heads over toward Jack and Bressie. Jack looks at him consideringly and offers to get Niall a water instead of a beer from the kitchen, like he can just tell Niall’s done for the night. Niall gives him a grateful nod and takes his place at Bressie’s side.

“Jack was just telling me his brother volunteers with this dance therapy organization in Sweden.”

“Yeah?”

Bressie nods. “Reckon I’ll check it out. He says there are some pretty compelling statistics. We’re always looking for more art-based programs.”

Niall grins, good news on so many fronts. Sometimes it feels like all Niall does is win. “Sounds brilliant.”

“Where were you hiding that one? Honestly I’m offended it took you this long to introduce us.”

“Three weeks?” Niall laughs. It’s speedy, all things considered, what with the promo and all.

“Is it – it’s only been three weeks?”

“Yeah, we met when I was in Dublin.”

“You just seemed so settled,” Bressie says, a bit of a _huh how about that_ coloring his voice that Niall doesn’t quite understand. “I’m surprised. And happy for you, of course. He’s a sound lad.”

“Yeah, he’s a good friend,” Niall says slowly, working the pieces together in his exhausted mind. “Who you think I’m dating.”

Bressie pauses, his voice going up in confusion. “Are you not?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Reasonably.” Niall’s stomach twists as he looks down at his feet, at the grass, anywhere but at Bressie. “Does – is that what everyone thinks?”

“We just know you don’t like to make a big announcement or anything. This is about how it goes when you’ve got someone.”

Niall scrubs a hand over his face. “Christ.”

Bressie’s quiet for a moment before landing one of his big paws on Niall’s shoulder, squeezing gently and saying, just as gently, “It’d be okay if you were.”

“I know that.” It comes out as a lash, even though it shouldn’t. If there’s anyone Niall’s going to let tell him it’s okay to be just who he is, it’d be Bressie.

“Not because – not because he’s – ” Bressie stops himself, collects his thoughts. “I’m just saying, chief.”

“Yeah,” Niall answers, but he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to.

Bressie makes his excuses when Jack gets back – old man, early night, early morning, whatever else rubbish he can think of until Niall’s laughing at swatting at him to just go. He gives each of them a hug and disappears out through the gate.

Niall downs half the glass of water in one go before he turns to Jack. He feels like he hasn’t seen him in ages, even though Jack’s been a bit of everywhere as far as Niall’s concerned. It’s the closest to just the two of them, maybe, in a while, and it feels quieter now, when they’re stood together. Niall knows there must be shouting, drunken howls of laughter. But it feels quieter.

“How’s it going?”

“Good, yeah, good,” Jack says, tracing a few fingers around the edges of his mouth. Niall’s eyes follow the same path. “Good crew you got here.”

“I think so.” Niall’s happy to call Jack one of them. That’s what Jack is – Niall’s redefined him, and he thinks maybe it fits. It fits because it has to, his good mate, Jack. Even if it’d be okay if he were more.

“You about done?”

“Just about.”

Jack gives his waist a squeeze. “All right then.”

–

The party dies down soon after, groups of them trickling off home or to a club, some of them leaving after a suspiciously short conversation with Jack that Niall narrows his eyes at but does nothing about. He hangs around the gate to say goodbye to each of them as they go, trading kisses on cheeks and thanks and well wishes.

The clubgoers try their best to goad Niall into joining them, even though they know he doesn’t like to leave his house in a state overnight.

Niall looks over at Jack, who’s got his sleeves rolled up as he’s running a brush over his grill. “Nah, go on.”

When the last of them are gone, it’s just him and Jack. They work in companionable silence to get the house back in order, Jack only breaking it to ask where things go.

It was a good night, solid craic, just the sort of reminder of reality that Niall needed, after several months of the surreality he gets to call his job, his passion. Even if it feels surreal to look over at Jack, standing in his kitchen, still with his sleeves rolled up, stood in his polka dotted fancy socks because he’d taken off his shoes once they were done with their work outside.

He’s here and solid and Niall likes that when he looks around for Jack, he’s there. He’s there, with an easy smile, effortless in an actual effortless way, not in the purposefully effortless way Niall tries to be.

There’s something building up slow and steady inside Niall.

Everything Jack does, or maybe just Jack being there. He’s here in all of Niall’s spaces, and Niall very much wants him to be.

He can’t take it anymore, when Jack’s frowning at his phone, saying, “Have you got a cover for the grill? Think it might rain tomorrow.”

Niall kisses him, soundly, hand on his neck to pull him down. Jack’s phone clatters to the floor as his hand goes to Niall’s face. Jack’s other hand is squeezing into Niall’s jumper – _his_ jumper.

Niall gets lost in it, pressing closer and closer to Jack until they’re flush together. Niall feels desperate, every kiss more intoxicating than the last. It’s still building within Niall, not quenched by each kiss, but heightened.

He noses at Jack’s jaw, leaving stray kisses there as he says, “Never finished giving you the tour, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jack hums. “What a line.”

“Shut up,” Niall laughs, wrapping his hand around Jack’s wrist and tugging.

They move to Niall’s bedroom as quick as they can manage with the odd grope, Niall stopping them once to snog Jack against a wall. It’s tinged with desperation until they’re finally there, Niall’s California king neatly-made, waiting for them to muss it up.

It goes quiet. He lets Jack drop each piece of his and Niall’s clothing onto the floor, instead of bundled into their chair in the corner. Bare skin is revealed and rewarded with a kiss, a light trace of fingers, and this is what Niall’s wanted. This is what he’ll do for himself, and for Jack.

There’s no hesitation because they’ve done this before, there’s no hesitation because they read each other far easier than they should. This makes sense, Niall thinks over a hitch in Jack’s breath as he easily finds a new way to make his hips buck in anticipation. There isn’t room to think about anything else.

Niall doesn’t think it can get any better than this, him on his back and Jack pressed against him, the two of them moving slowly against each other as if they’ve got all night – and they do. Niall thinks it can’t get any better, and he lets Jack prove him wrong several times over.

–

Niall wakes up with immediacy, and he knows just what he’s done.

Any boundaries that he’s built up, any clarity he’s gained when he looks at Jack’s face -- it’s gone. He presses his hands over his eyes, but he doesn’t exactly want reality to change when he opens them again.

He keeps his breathing slow, deliberate to fight the panic rising in his chest. Every press of their lips felt like a promise for a hundred other kisses, each purposeful stroke had Niall hungry for the next. He’d had a steady eye on the future, on keeping Jack in his bed forever.

It’s not his bed that’s the problem, it’s his kitchen. His dining room, his den, his grill. Niall wants to see him there too, standing around like he half-owns the place, that anything that’s Niall’s belongs to him and anything he brings belongs to Niall. Niall wants to see his shoes by the door and his clothes in the closet and his pictures on the walls.

That’s not something Niall does. He doesn’t blow it all out of proportion over a couple of weeks of texts, a few good shags, and the way Jack just seems to know just what Niall needs.

Niall slides out of bed slowly, mindful of each sleep-steady breath Jack takes, but it’s not quiet enough. Jack catches him halfway to the ensuite, his morning voice achingly familiar, “If you’re attempting to sneak out, I hate to have to break it to you, but this is your house.”

“Just going for a piss,” Niall says, and does just that.

He forgoes his usual long look in the mirror to check his face, teeth, because he’s not sure what else he’ll find in his reflection that’ll make this harder. A lovebite, a sated smile, mussed hair.

Jack’s sitting on the edge of the bed when Niall comes back, his feet cushioned in the carpet. Niall thinks for a moment how his own feet dangle off the bed, then he pulls a pair of pants on, like that’ll help him rebuild his armor.

“Hey,” Jack says.

Niall’s hand goes to his mouth, his teeth worrying at his thumb. “Hey.”

“Why’re you being so jumpy? C’mere.”

“I’m not.”

“C’mere.” Jack reaches out and gets ahold of Niall’s hips when he doesn’t appear to be moving fast enough.

Niall lets himself be maneuvered onto the bed next to Jack and pressed close with Jack’s arm firmly around his waist. His head is cushioned against Jack’s shoulder and he lets the slow drag of Jack’s thumb up and down his waist convince him to drift his eyes closed.

Silence builds up around them, not their usual comfortable sort, because Niall’s filling it with all the things he should say that remain trapped in his brain.

“You understand what I’m trying to do, right?” Jack says.

“What.”

“I reckon it’s time to make an honest man out of you.”

Niall’s eyes open. He pulls away, keeps his eyes trained on the floor, on the pile of their clothes together.

“Listen, I want to date you,” Jack says. “And I think you want to date me too.”

It could be easy saying yes, finally letting the truth out. To finally pick a side in the tug of war within himself, one side saying this could be the difference, the other side saying it’ll be just the same as before.

Niall’s got a weirdly broken heart, not torn from use but the opposite. Torn from hoping for more and never getting it, hoping for more and realizing it wasn’t as good as it should have been. Niall’s gone for love a time or two, enough to make an album trying to stitch himself back together.

Not that this is love, by any means. But it feels like it could be. And now he knows better.

“I dunno if that’s the best idea,” Niall says.

“I disagree. With respect.”

Niall looks over at him, finally, finds his eyebrows quirked, his eyes light like this is just another neurotic Niall thing he can work his way around in his favor. Niall’s good at being told what to do, when he needs to be, when he wants to be. Not about this.

“You can’t – you can’t engineer this,” Niall says, steadier than he thought he could. “Not like the other stuff. I was fine with that, I could go along with all that. But you can’t just decide to do this and then do it without asking. It doesn’t work that way.”

Jack looks frustratingly patient. “Then tell me how it works.”

“It’s, like – honestly, I don’t know how to say this without you thinking I’m a total wanker.”

“I don’t think you’re a _total_ wanker.”

“Cheers.”

“Niall.”

“It’s – it’s annoying to date me,’ Niall blurts, because there’s not really a good way to go about it tactfully. “Like it sucks. People are – like, they’re watching. I honestly can’t imagine why they want to, but they do. And it’s. I don’t think it’s worth the effort.”

Niall doesn’t know what he’s expecting of it, probably not Jack to stand, throw his hands up and say, _yeah I guess you’re right goodbye forever_. But it’s definitely not Jack saying, “I do.”

Which he does actually say.

“No, Jack, you don’t – like, you don’t _know_.”

“I do,” Jack repeats, firmly.

And maybe Jack does -- maybe he’s watched Harry and all, maybe he’s gotten a glimpse. Not that Niall wants to live his life in comparison to Harry, not when it comes to Jack. But they’re a pair in some ways, have a few matching pieces of baggage to carry around.

“I have to – like. I’m trying to do this thing. I’m trying to build this thing, like. My career, my music. I have to make that a priority.”

“My career is also a priority,” Jack says. “But people have multiple priorities. You don’t need just the one thing. Otherwise every musician or actor or whatever in modern history would be alone forever.”

Jack’s got an answer for everything, and they make Niall’s arguments look small. Niall knows his arguments, he’s repeated them over and over to himself looking for holes in them and pretending there weren’t any.

It wasn’t a test to see who’d find them. It wasn’t a test to find someone he could trust more than himself.

Jack turns to him, properly, body and all, his hands in his lap instead of laced up with Niall’s. His face is painted serious, the most serious Niall’s ever seen him, only Niall hasn’t really seen him that much.

“Listen, I’m not going to – if you don’t want to, I understand. I just want you to have all the facts before you make your decision. Then you can tell me to fuck off.”

Niall keeps his eyes locked on Jack’s intense stare, and allows, “What are they, the facts.”

“Fact number one,” Jack says immediately. “I like you a lot. Have done from the first moment.”

That checks out, Niall thinks, not brave enough to put it into words.

“Fact number two. I’ll take whatever I can get from you, and it’d be an honor. Because what I’ve got so far is brilliant.”

Niall blinks but keeps watching as Jack takes another brick off the wall that separates them. Niall reaches over and takes a brick off himself, because he feels just the same.

“Fact number three. You’ll go on tour. I’ll be on location. We’ll be away from each other, and it’ll be hard. But when the alternative is nothing? That we get _nothing_? I’d rather wait for you to come home.”

Niall presses his lips together. He’s very good at getting nothing, allowing himself nothing, and it’s just like Jack to convince him he could have something.

“Fact number four. I’m pretty tough, you know. I can handle meself all right. No pictures or tweets or whatever else is going to mean fuck all to me, compared to this.”

Jack doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop any time soon, like he’s collected up a long list in anticipation, ready to wear Niall down if it came right to it. There’s nothing left Niall needs, except to trust.

“Fact number five,” Niall says. “You fit into my life. Perfectly. And it scares the shit out of me.”

Jack grins, slowly, until it takes over his whole face. He still speaks very calmly for someone who looks like he’s just won the lottery. “That’s good to know. Not, like. Not good to know, you know, no man wants to hear he scares the shit out of anyone.”

Niall lets out a laugh. “Sorry, sorry.”

“But I do like that you said that. You spend a lot of time up here,” Jack says, tapping lightly at Niall’s forehead. “Should spend a little more time using these.” He thumbs lightly against Niall’s lips.

“I’ll give that a go.” Niall leans over and kisses him. It tastes stale with the morning, but Niall doesn’t care. He figures he’ll have to get used to it, the way he’s become used to everything else about kissing Jack. Niall’s grinning into the kiss when Jack’s hand finds his face, because he likes that. He likes everything about Jack.

Jack keeps pressed close after the kiss. “I meant talking, but yeah. This is great too.”

Niall laughs, turning to butt his head into the crook of Jack’s neck where he clicks in naturally. He doesn’t have to talk himself into thinking he deserves this. He just decides he does.

“Okay,” Niall says.

Jack wraps his arm around Niall’s waist and holds him, not that there’s any possibility Niall would escape. “Okay?”

“Okay, we should date.”

\----

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you need us, we are [here](http://veryniceandgood.tumblr.com) and [here](http://wickershire.tumblr.com). Tumblr post [here](https://wickershire.tumblr.com/post/169974002563/designs-on-you-jack-lowdenniall-horan-11k-im).


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